


tearing out the sutures

by notquiteaghost



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, Nonbinary Character, Podfic Welcome, Queer Themes, author using speculative fiction as an outlet for their desire to study sociology, gay pining as background noise, the gender binary is enforced by imperialist capitalism and would have no hold in pegasus: discuss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 02:14:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17951720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquiteaghost/pseuds/notquiteaghost
Summary: The head of the council asks, “And, how do you refer to yourselves? I use she, and you…?”And Teyla says, easily, “I also use she,” and then there’s the briefest of hesitant pauses before McKay says, “I, ah, he, I use he,” and he can justfeelthe gears in Teyla’s mind turning.In which, sometimes, you have to move to another galaxy before you feel able to come out.





	tearing out the sutures

**Author's Note:**

> this is shameless projection & self-indulgence but [shrug emoji] what is fanfiction for if not that!
> 
> fic title is from 'congratulations' by nervus; _i've been scared about the future 'cause you stole my past, i've been tearing out the sutures 'cause you stitched me up_ (aside: please listen to nervus)

On a statistically significant percentage of missions, both McKay and Ronon are functionally useless.

Which isn’t a thought McKay would ever voice aloud, especially not in earshot of Elizabeth, but it’s a fact nonetheless. First contact, and the many stages in the long process of establishing diplomatic relations that first contact initiates, is not something he’s any good at. Or something he’s inclined to learn to be any good at. Really, Teyla would make a perfectly good first contact team all on her own, except for how the idea of sending her (or anyone) through the ‘gate without backup gives the entire expedition hives.

A lot of AR-1’s diplomacy missions, then, involve Teyla and Sheppard doing a lot of talking, and McKay and Ronon doing a lot of wandering around trying not to get into trouble. If asked, Sheppard would call it gathering intel, or validating intel, or some other military buzz phrase, but mostly they just try all the food. In another life, Ronon could have been an excellent restaurant critic.

“Hey, McKay.”

McKay hums distractedly, most of his attention on the woman weaving something elaborate in the corner of the market they’re in. He’s sure he’s seen the technique before, but he can’t figure out if it was somewhere else in Pegasus or in one of the history channel specials Jeannie liked.

“What’s the deal with Tau’ri and gender?”

 _That_ gets McKay’s full attention.

He turns to give Ronon an incredulous look. “Surely that’s a question for the anthropologists, not me?”

“I don’t want a three-hour lecture.”

“Sorry, have you _met_ me?”

Ronon rolls his eyes, but affectionately. He does that a lot. “You notice when I stop listening,” he says, and, okay. Sure. They have at least another hour before Teyla and Sheppard re-emerge from the town hall, he can give Earth Gender Theory 101 in that time. Probably.

“I assume you have more specific questions, though, and this isn’t just a request for me to recite an encyclopaedia entry.”

Ronon hums, and gently tugs McKay out of the path of a woman carrying two large baskets of fruit. They’ve done a full circuit of the market without seeing anything of real interest, so they start back in the direction of the meadow they passed earlier without needing to discuss it. “You have a lot of rules.”

“Your primary source is the American military, remember. Most subsets of Tau’ri culture aren’t quite so rigid.”

But Ronon purses his lips and says, “No, they are. Who can wear what, who does what, what words to use. The anthropologists keep asking me about Sateda’s rules. Like everyone who’s industrial has them.”

“Wait, you– didn’t?”

“Child-bearers are delicate, strong people should enlist, having kids is important.” Ronon shrugs. “Nothing about clothes, or hair, or whatever. Clothes are just clothes.”

Obviously, this isn’t _new_ information. McKay has lived in this galaxy for over three years, he knows Pegasus gender roles are generally far more lax than anywhere on Earth – and if they’re not, it’s very obviously a consequence of the Wraith trauma.

But hearing it from Ronon, as opposed to reading it in the still-impenetrable jargon of Humanities, hits harder somehow. Ronon never uses pronouns for anyone until he hears someone else use them first, and McKay had thought that was primarily a fish-out-of-water thing, but fuck, maybe it’s just Satedan courtesy. Maybe if he’d gone to Sateda-that-was, no one would have gendered him at all until he asked. 

That’s– A lot. To think about.

“Uh–” They’ve reached the meadow, and McKay lets Ronon finding the sunniest patch of grass cover for him being just a little bit lost for words. By the time they’ve settled, Ronon sprawled out on his back like a cat as is his custom, he’s recovered. “Did you have an actual question, then, or did you just want to vent about Anthropology?”

Ronon shrugs. “S’just weird, how many of you there are, all going along with it.”

“Not _every_ one does,” McKay counters, “but it’s– pervasive. A lot of people can’t afford to go against it.”

Ronon hums, thoughtful, and they lapse into silence. Ronon’s closed his eyes, and McKay is reaching into his pack for his tablet, thinking if Ronon’s going to nap he might as well get some work done, when Ronon says, “On Sateda, you choose.”

It’s really ridiculous, being so floored by such simple statements. McKay is being ridiculous. He needs to get it together.

“Just words, really. How people talk about you.” Ronon’s eyes are still closed, he’s not even facing McKay, there’s no reason for what he’s saying to feel like such a pointed attack. How could he even _tell_ – “S’not a big deal. Even if you’re, y’know – you don’t have to choose when you’re a kid. Or you can change your mind, later.”

“Most people,” McKay says, an edge to his voice he doesn’t want but can’t control, “would just _ask_.”

“You’re funny about asking.”

“Oh, don’t, we have _had_ the DADT talk, you just– Think it’s _funny_ , watching me _squirm_ –”

Ronon sits up at that, gives McKay a hard look. “You and Sheppard, it’s like herding cats. You’d rather get captured by the Wraith.”

“Maybe there’s a _reason_ I don’t talk about it,” McKay snaps.

“Yeah,” Ronon says, condescending ‘well, duh’ tone, “Your planet’s backwards. We just went over that.”

McKay huffs, but doesn’t rise to the bait. It feels like all his skin’s been peeled back, his skull cracked open and all his dirty laundry hung out for everyone to gawk at. Goddamn it, relentless repression was working _just_ fine, what does Ronon think he knows, where does he get off just– _Saying things_ –

“I’m just saying,” Ronon says, several minutes of silence later, “you can choose. With me.”

Everything in McKay’s head goes blank.

Except, apparently, for whatever part controls his vocal chords, which asks, haltingly, “So, uh, if I asked you to call me Meredith…?”

“I’d call you Meredith,” Ronon answers, immediately, like it’s. Like it’s _easy_. Like it’s that _simple_.

They pass another long while in silence. This is why talking to Ronon is nice – he knows what someone else thinking sounds like.

McKay’s brain has become a skipping record. Meredith, Meredith, I’d call you Meredith. What’s up, Meredith. Hey, Meredith, catch. Meredith, keep up. I’d call you Meredith. I’d call you Meredith.

“Thought you hated that,” Ronon says, eventually. Probably he could tell McKay was never going to say anything of his own accord.

“It, ah, it’s–” Surely Ronon doesn’t need McKay to explain repression, that’s not what he’s asking. “I’ve never asked any friends. In as much as I had any friends before Atlantis. It was just… passing strangers, people I wouldn’t see again, who might– assume–”

“You’re a woman?”

“I’m not a man.” Something in McKay cracks open at that, at saying that aloud, to _Ronon_ , but he ignores it. They only have so long until Sheppard comes to find them, he can’t keep spacing out to process. “I don’t know, it’s not– I’ve never thought about it, it was just. Nice.”

“Uhuh,” Ronon says, because he knows McKay is lying. “In front of the team?”

“What?”

“Do I call you Meredith, in front of the team?”

McKay did not even know what a conversation sucker punch was, before. He thought he did, but no, he was naive, he was wrong, Jesus. _Jesus_.

“I– You–” It would be weird if he hugged Ronon. They don’t do that, and also Ronon is still sprawled on his back on the grass. “Right. Uh. Just, just when it’s the two of us. Thank you.”

“Sure,” Ronon says, like he just passed McKay the salt. Like this isn’t the most emotion McKay has felt in the span of a single hour since the last time the city was attacked. Like he hasn’t just fundamentally reshaped the principles of McKay’s entire world. “You hungry?”

And McKay nods, because of course he is, and Ronon pulls a bundle of something sweet-smelling from his pack, and then does close his eyes and sleep while McKay picks over the ‘gate bridge code and resolutely only thinks about how horribly redundant Ancient programming is. Eventually, Sheppard crackles over the radio, and they make their way back to the town hall, and then back to the ‘gate while Sheppard kvetches about the very uncomfortable benches, and then they’re home and it’s not-quite-beef stew for dinner and Zelenka wants his thoughts on something and the conversation with Ronon fades out of Mckay’s mind.

 

* * *

 

Of course, it doesn’t actually fade away entirely, just retreats to the background until such a time McKay can fully devote his whole attention to freaking the fuck out.

But, if there’s one thing Pegasus is good for, it’s always providing a distraction when someone needs one. And, of course, when no one needs one. The expedition could set their watches by how frequently Pegasus throws life-or-death situations at them.

He manages almost three months of avoiding thinking about it, and could possibly have continued that way indefinitely, if it weren’t for the ‘gate system’s uncanny ability to throw the one thing you’re trying to avoid directly in your face.

It’s relatively common Pegasus etiquette to ask for– not pronouns _exactly_ , but to double check any assumptions made won’t cause offence.

So, naturally, their first first contact mission in over three months is to just the kind of considerate, careful society where the head of the council asks, “And, how do you refer to yourselves? I use she, and you…?”

And it’s just Teyla and McKay, because the Mariet are technologically advanced enough for McKay’s presence to be actually necessary but not weapons-focused enough for Sheppard to hang around after one of the hoard of children mentioned some kind of sports game.

So Teyla says, easily, “I also use she,” and then there’s the briefest of hesitant pauses before McKay says, “I, ah, he, I use he,” and he can just _feel_ the gears in Teyla’s mind turning.

They get through the rest of the introductory spiels, of course. Several hours pass, even, and it’s not until he’s thoroughly distracted looking through the Mariet’s research into Ancient technology, and everyone else has disappeared off somewhere, that he gets a sinking feeling because, oh, of course this was coming; now he’s alone with Teyla.

She lets him finish the page he’s reading before she says, as if picking up a conversation they left off earlier, “I must confess, McKay, your customs regarding gender have always confused me.”

McKay doesn’t know if he wants to do this right now.

Teyla would let him shut her down, but it would only be prolonging the inevitable. He’s never going to escape having this conversation; he just might be able to escape having this conversation offworld.

No point, of course. Might as well get it over with.

“You don’t need to sugarcoat it, you can just call us crazy misogynists.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “You know as well as I that misogyny comes easily to all of us. No, I meant your… rigidity.”

“We really don’t have to talk about this,” he tries, more a token protest than anything.

Teyla, of course, nods agreeably and says, “Ronon told me of your conversation.”

“That _traitor_.”

She gives him the kind of look that makes him wince for the sake of her future children. “McKay. We are your friends – if I would risk my life to protect yours after seeing you in full caffeine withdrawal, why would I draw the line at this?”

“You should charge us. Therapy this good usually costs a lot of money.”

“I appreciate the compliment,” Teyla says, and means _I am armed and if you do not stop deflecting I will hurt you_.

“Ugh, okay, it’s not–” McKay rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s a lot to, to rewrite, okay? I spent the first thirty years of my life convinced I had to be a man, regardless of my feelings on the matter, and even if there was a– It would have been enough, maybe, to transition to a woman, or at least in my early twenties I thought it was a good idea, but God knows women have it hard enough in academia without being trans, so. I had to be able to work, to publish, that was– Science came first. And now,” his voice rises, he throws his hands in the air, “you tell me I can be a scientist _and_ genderqueer! It’s a lot!”

Teyla nods again, and actually, putting off this conversation until they got back to the city would have been a good idea, because now McKay’s eyes are prickling and a lump is rising in his throat and ‘crying anywhere alone except alone in his quarters’ is only marginally lower than ‘being captured by the Wraith’ on the scale of terrible things that could happen on any given day.

“There is no rush.”

McKay barks a laugh. “Right, apart from the incredibly high likelihood we’ll all be killed any day now.”

“That is why lying to yourself is a fool’s errand,” Teyla agrees. “But as you said, you have spent thirty years thinking you had to be something you were not.”

“So I should expect to spend another thirty repairing the damage?”

“You certainly shouldn’t expect it to happen overnight.”

“...You’re right, you’re always right. I wish I’d met you decades ago.” He grimaces. “Oh, wow, let’s pretend I didn’t say that. Did you see this? Let’s talk about how laughably wrong the physics of this are.”

Teyla obligingly turns her attention to the research document, and doesn’t try to make McKay talk about his feelings again.

 

* * *

 

Or, of course, lets McKay lull himself into a false sense of security so that when she corners him on his way back to his rooms from the labs that night, she catches him off-guard.

It’s late, later than she’s usually up, because she’s a functional person who wakes with the sunrise and doesn’t routinely stumble into bed at 0500 even though they have to be at the morning meeting at 0700. So this is a premeditated cornering. There’s no one else in the corridor, as usual given the hour.

She doesn’t beat around the bush, at least, just raises an eyebrow at him and says, “John wouldn’t care anymore than Ronon or I, McKay.”

So, of course, he has to spit back, with more vitriol than he’d previously realised he had about this, “You don’t _know that_ , you can’t know that, he hates _himself_ enough–”

Sheppard and McKay have never talked, exactly, about– this, but McKay isn’t _blind_. Sheppard has an ex-wife he married young but never mentions and a pinched look on his face whenever any woman flirts with him, even as he flirts back with a very practiced ease. He got exiled to Antarctica for going above and beyond for a fellow officer. He gets this look in his eyes sometimes, when he’s looking at McKay, which is something McKay spends a lot of time very definitely not thinking about.

“Generally,” Teyla’s voice is so gentle, that one tone he would’ve sworn she picked up from Kate if he hadn’t heard her use it before they ever met, “we find it far easier to be kind to others than to ourselves.”

“How do you just say things like that and have them land,” McKay says, more for the way Teyla’s lips quirk than to derail the conversation. “Do they teach that on Athos? Were you born with this perpetually winning combo of sincerity and wisdom?”

Teyla does that diplomacy nod, with the ‘I appreciate your kind words even if the logic behind them is nonsensical to me’ face. She’s gone on long, long rants to half the expedition at this point, about the importance of respect and why their inability to simply talk to each other is the cause of the Tau’ri’s predilection to civil war.

And then, of course, she says, “If you do not bring it up with John, I will.”

McKay’s entire body goes ice cold. “That’s not– You can’t–”

“If the situation was reversed, and he was putting himself through unnecessary pain for the sake of your feelings, you would want me to tell you.”

Dammit. Damn everything to hell. Why did he befriend Teyla.

“Talking to you is terrible.”

Teyla just smiles, fondly. “I love you too, McKay.”

 

* * *

 

McKay, naturally, tries to put off talking to Sheppard for as long as possible.

Three and a half weeks pass before Teyla threatens him again, this time while holding her Bantos rods, and then after another week Teyla threatens him _again_ and he’s sitting in the labs waiting for code to compile, unable to stop thinking about how that conversation would go, Teyla explaining on his behalf, him not there to see the look on Sheppard’s face, Sheppard pulling him aside later–

It’s not a conscious decision, but suddenly he’s bursting into Sheppard’s quarters. Sheppard is– was asleep, because, whoops, it’s 0427.

Sheppard isn’t asleep anymore, is out of bed and pulling on his boots because generally, if McKay bursts in unannounced in the middle of the night it’s not ‘cause he wants to talk. He says as much, in an unimpressed drawl, when McKay tells him to sit down.

“No, no, don’t worry,” Mckay takes a step towards the bed and then another step back away, “this time the crisis is contained to just me.” But that just makes the frown on Sheppard’s face change shape, not go away, so he adds, hastily, “That is, ah, I’m fine, I’m not sick or anything, it’s– Personal crisis. Identity crisis, in fact, I’m having an identity crisis.” He barks a laugh, rubs at the back of his neck. “I’m thirty-nine, I really thought I was done having identity crises. Uh, this– doesn’t actually need to happen now, I can–”

But Sheppard just looks at him, frown turning unimpressed again, and says, in that tone like it’s a whole sentence, “McKay.”

“That wasn’t deflecting! You’re negotiating a trade agreement tomorrow, you should be well-rested!”

“ _Teyla_ is negotiating tomorrow. I’m gonna sit next to her and look pretty.”

“Nodding off still wouldn’t be particularly well-received–”

“ _McKay_.”

“–Okay.” McKay takes a breath, then another, then another aborted step towards the bed Sheppard is still standing next to, wearing one boot, arms crossed. Then he spins to face the window. He can probably get through this, but not if he’s looking at Sheppard’s face. “Okay, so, there are things we don’t… Talk about, but, Teyla kept threatening me with violence, so–”

“I already know you’re bi, McKay.”

“I– No!” McKay flaps a hand, wishes for telepathy. “Well, yes, I’m bi and we all know, but– Not that thing. A different thing we don’t talk about.”

He looks back at Sheppard’s face for just long enough to catch the quirked eyebrow. “Do I need alcohol for this?”

“No, but I might.”

“Jesus, McKay–”

“It’s fine! It’s fine, it’s just– It was different, with Teyla and Ronon, it came up naturally and they, they got it and I knew they’d get it and it was just a, a matter of being vulnerable, and that’s hardly a real issue at this point, but you– you–”

He flaps his hands again, wilder, still looking out the window. Everything about how he’s done this is terrible but it’s too late, this is the path he’s put himself on.

It’s a long beat, presumably Sheppard making sure McKay is really out of words, before Sheppard says, “There’s nothing you could say that could make me hate you.”

And that. Fuck. _Fuck_.

He makes himself turn to look at Sheppard, somehow, and Sheppard looks– gutted, in that way talking about emotions guts him. Like he has to pull them free with pliers. 

“Oh,” McKay says, inadequately. “Oh, that’s– Did Teyla talk to you? Am I working myself into a panic attack for absolutely no reason?”

“No, McKay, sometimes I say things without Teyla holding my hand about it.”

“Blatantly false, but whatever, beside the point, I– Really?”

“Forgave you for Doranda, didn’t I?”

He did, didn’t he. That– means something, there is definitely an added layer of meaning to that sentence that McKay is very much not touching right now. One tooth-pulling conversation at a time.

He takes a deep breath. “Okay.” Another deep breath, shit he should have scripted this, fuck, “Okay, okay, okay this is going to be incredibly underwhelming thanks to my signature hysterics, but I, ah, I don’t think I’m a man. Or a woman. And, no, okay, that was a cop out, I’m not a man and I’ve known that for over twenty years and I’ve just been– ignoring it, which has fucked me up, I’m sure you can relate, please feel free to interrupt at any time–”

He’s staring out the window again. Really nice view, Sheppard has.

“I never got that into gender theory, but, okay,” Sheppard says, easily. _Easily_ , and then he asks, “Pronouns?”

And then McKay has to sit on the floor for a minute.

It’s nice, on the floor. Should’ve been here from the start.

“Um, they?” McKay says, eventually. “But. That’s a very logistically fraught question.”

“Teyla and Ronon know.”

“They do.”

“And people outside Atlantis can know, yeah? If it ever gets back here, they’ll just assume cultural misunderstanding.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

Sheppard has this _look_ on his face, like he’s been soaked in water overnight, like someone sanded all his edges, like he– Like McKay is–

McKay looks out the window again.

“Rodney still okay?”

“Uh,” McKay says. “Um.”

Sheppard’s face goes all tight and sharp when he’s uncomfortable – everyone says he’s impossible to read, and McKay has no idea why. He’s obvious, an open book, and probably it’s significant that McKay, historically so less than stellar at interpreting facial expressions, can so easily decode every tilt of Sheppard’s mouth.

His face isn’t tight and sharp now. The exact opposite, in fact. And he– It’s understanding, isn’t it, that’s empathy in the curve of his brow, and McKay has let this man risk life and limb, and has risked life and limb in turn, and this is no more significant than anything else already said, so. So.

“Meredith, as. As well? If, ah, I know that– People don’t have two–”

“Shut up, Meredith.”

And that’s. That’s. McKay is already on the floor, so maybe he’ll– maybe they’ll fall backwards, or forwards, facedown on the floor sounds appealing. They’re not tearing up, this is just some kind of delayed reaction to that new plant botany brought back, but still. Sheppard doesn’t need to see h– their face.

Except Sheppard is moving over, sinking down on the floor besides them, letting their knees press together, and that’s– good. That’s nice. They definitely still need to talk, about things, because unlike Teyla or Ronon Sheppard was raised on Earth and is therefore definitely riddled through with assumptions and stereotypes and McKay would rather get all that shit excised sooner rather than later, but. This is nice. Comfortable.

“It’s definitely past five by now,” McKay points out. The sun is just peaking over the horizon.

Sheppard hums. His head is rested on McKay’s shoulder. The hum vibrates through their collarbone.

“The pre-mission briefing is at eight.”

“S’Teyla’s show, she won’t mind if we don’t turn up.”

“She absolutely will.”

There’s a smile spreading across Sheppard’s face. His eyes are closed. “Mhmm.”

“Are you– Don’t fall asleep, oh my god, I am not spending all day listening to you whine about the entirely avoidable crick in your neck.”

“Won’t both fit in the bed.”

“I am not sleeping on the _floor_.”

“S’comfy.”

“No it is _not_.”

“Mmmm.”

The weight of Sheppard’s head on their shoulder is doing things to their cognitive functioning. This is a terrible idea, they’re both going to hate themselves in a couple hours, but somehow McKay finds themself just… Continuing to sit there, on the floor. Sheppard warm along their side. Watching the sun come up.

**Author's Note:**

> i couldn't work it into the actual fic without it being jarring, but, fun fact: ronon is trans in this. he is a trans man, tho he wouldn't really ID with that framing. that's the driving force behind his conversation with mckay.
> 
> also, i know it's kind of a convention of trans fic to have the protag pronoun themself correctly in the narration, and mckay using 'he' for the majority of this isn't meant to suggest they perceive themself as male, it's just. third pov doesn't allow for the kind of mental distance from gender mckay has. it's very easy to go months without gendering yourself mentally, especially if you're actively repressing things. ideally, instead of pronouns there'd be fuzzy static, or ????, or a redacted black rectangle, but that's not logistically feasible
> 
> and, as previously mentioned, this is shameless projection. i publicly ID'd as nonbinary for a full year before it occurred to me to go by neutral pronouns, & that realisation was triggered by someone else asking. sometimes you need outside forces to tell you you're allowed
> 
> anyway. i am [notquiteaghost](http://notquiteaghost.tumblr.com) on tumblr, and most other places. i shout about lacklustre cishet world-building and the sociological implications of a millenia-long vampire alien tyranny in all those places. i'm a very fun person. thank you for coming to my TED talk.


End file.
